


Synapse To Synapse

by addictedkitten



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-01-23
Updated: 2005-01-23
Packaged: 2017-10-31 05:36:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/340503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/addictedkitten/pseuds/addictedkitten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>- but for a brief second you think, no, I must have misremembered, it couldn't have hurt this badly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Synapse To Synapse

One floor, two floors, and Elijah is trying to breathe normally. Sixth floor seventh floor up up up eleven twelve skip thirteen and the elevator opens with a slow slide and he's off. Down the hall, rushing but not really, if someone opened a door he'd just be walking a little fast, nothing out of the ordinary (why did he get a room at the end of such a long hallway?) and here, here he is. The keycard shakes in his hand and then he's in the room, leaning against the door.

The room is dark, streetlights and the night's first stars through the open curtains. It's too cold in here. 

Elijah tips his head back against the door, drops his keycard. Closes his eyes. Unzips his pants. 

(Tonight. They're together again, those that can be, for the release of the Super Special Ultimate Deluxe BEST EVER SERIOUSLY Edition or whatever they're calling it. It's an excuse for a party, and they need one now like they never used to before. So it's Orlando and Viggo and Ian and Sean B. and a bunch of others, dates and B-Listers and Dom and Billy.

Dom and Billy. Say it last like it's incidental, like it's not them, like it's not always them together that brings you here, maybe not here specifically but to this place where you can't fucking stop-)

Pushing his pants down his hips just enough to allow movement, one hand in and stroking. Slow, let this be worth something, but not too slow because eventually they'll be here after company and further inebriation, and by then he'll have to be ready for it, casual and pretending because he's good at it. It's his job, to pretend, but there's no one here to pretend for, just this dark room and Elijah's hand on his cock strokes a little faster. Impatient.

(It's not like you hadn't seen it before, but it's always startling like when a bee stings you and you know what it feels like already but for a brief second you think, no, I must have misremembered, it couldn't have hurt this badly. But it thrills as it hurts and stop it, Elijah, stop thinking in abstracts and focus:

You'd think they'd have some control by now, some discretion, but they're still like new lovers after all this time, leaning up against each other with the thin excuse of liquor. You just wanted a fucking smoke on the balcony- you weren't looking for them, shut _up_ \- and there they were against the wall, pressed together and making out, jesus, making out like teenagers or something. They hardly went in for that chaste kiss thing when they didn't have to, not anymore, not since everybody knew and nobody cared. 

And, whatever, you're a jerk and you didn't say anything or leave or studiously ignore them and have your smoke, you ducked behind a plant and watched. The plant thing you're not particularly proud of, okay? The way your hands shook when you lit your cigarette and you almost set yourself on fire, that's not one of your finest moments either.

They were kissing, hard like it didn't matter they were on a balcony in free view of anyone that happened to be below, and Dom's hands were underneath Billy's shirt, pushing it up and rubbing over bare skin even though it was thirty fucking degrees outside. Billy shivered and leaned closer and murmured something to Dom, into his neck and then started kissing there, and Dom just kept touching him, moving his hands over that stretch of skin like he was the only one that could warm it, like it was his reason and purpose to keep Billy warm. Billy was moving up a little, to that spot on Dom's jaw that you know he- that's not a wise place to go, stop- a spot on Dom's jaw that made him gasp and arch his neck toward Billy's mouth, that made his hands move from Billy's waist to his face, hands sliding over his neck and bringing him closer for another kiss.)

At this point his thoughts dissolve, shifting into stop, rewind, focus, repeat: Dom and Billy together, this night, again, again, further back, the first time he saw them, the next time and the next time, all the times between and they way they look at each other and the way Dom looked at him, and god, all he wants in life right now is to come. He's shaking, his shoulders are shaking and his knees are threatening to give out, but just a few more fast strokes and he'll be there.

It's not taking long, it never takes long after he sees them, after whatever event they attend together and he rushes back to the hotel before they all get there, always making sure he has the fastest driver because he needs this time. Grip a little tighter, come on, a little faster, a little rougher, a quick twist of the fingers that always works, picture their faces, Dom's face, tension working in every nerve and he's coming, and he's coming, sliding down to the floor and holding onto nothing.

(Your cigarette was burning to ash between your fingers and it was honestly, seriously fucking cold out, but they weren't stopping so neither were you. And then Orlando came out of the door behind you, and said your name, and Dom looked up at you. 

Yeah, just try and be smooth in a situation like that, but you were going to do your best when Orlando saved you by stealing your cigarette, taking an exuberant drag, grinning at you and then kissing you on the mouth. He tasted like your own clove cigarettes, which was disconcerting, and also vodka, which explained a few things.

You took your cigarette back. "Orlando, you quit."

"Whoops," he said, sounding not particularly sorry, and then he spotted Dom and Billy. "Hey! What are you two doing out here?"

"Getting the orgy started without you," Dom said, and he and Billy both pushed away from the wall and walked toward you with perfect, comfortable synchronicity.

"Don’t stop on my account," Orlando said, "by all means."

"So altruistic," Billy said. He patted Orlando on the cheek. "We'll keep a spot open for you later."

"Orlando?" Kate poked her head out the door. "Hey. What's going on?"

"Dom and Billy were inviting me to an orgy," Orlando said, kissing her on the forehead.

"Neat! Can I come?" she asked.

"You're welcome anytime," Dom said.

Kate beamed. You impressed yourself with your ability to resist rolling your eyes.

So you all went back in, and there was more champagne and you were still a little jittery from the cold and the mostly unsatisfied nicotine craving, and you really were not going to go have a wank in the bathroom because you were just fucking not, okay?

Because see, the thing was that before Orlando kissed you, in that brief second of discovery when Dom looked up at you he had that look in his eyes that you'd seen before, like he wanted to say "C'mon, Lij, join us" but knew he shouldn't because you would join them expecting to stay and that couldn't happen. They were two and that was that, and maybe if you weren't quite so fucked up about everything you could share a few tumbles and have a grand time and continue on better than ever, and if it were anyone but Dom and Billy then sure, maybe you could. But it is, and you can't, and so he doesn't ask, and it kills you that he might want to. To know that he won't, because it's the rest of his life now and it's not you he wants to spend it with. It's not you.)

Just breathe. Eyes closed, seeing nothing, feeling only the pleasant blank buzz of satisfaction, of relief. 

(The point is not what you had once, the point is that they're _happy_ , and they're your _friends_ and there's nothing you can do about it so just _stop_. Stop, like it's easy, like it's possible, like you can just stop breathing, but you can't because you always see them. No, you never see them, not anymore, not like you used to because that's just the way life is, but every fucking time you close your eyes you see them every boy you have in a hotel room or the bathroom at a club or wherever you can get is Dom, Billy, both of them or you're one of them with the other and you just _can't get away_.)

Knock on the door behind him. Inhale, exhale. Zip his pants, straighten his tie, stick his head out the balcony door (and twenty degrees in winter is damn well enough to shock away any cheap afterglow), give up on his rumpled clothes as a lost cause and decide that if anyone asks, it's just a Look and They Wouldn't Understand.

"We're gonna be downstairs," Dom says on the other side of the door, and Elijah can hear Billy bumping up against him and laughing, and-

"I'll be there," Elijah says, because they'll be there. And this is what he has.


End file.
